Old Wheels sighed.
"Your wages at the office are still the same, Alfred--fifteen shillings a week?"
"Yes--the old skinflints! I don't believe I should be better off if I stopped there all my life."
"You seem to be well off, notwithstanding," observed the old man, with a grave look.
"You're going to preach again, I suppose!" exclaimed Alfred in a fretful tone. "A young fellow can't have a shilling in his pocket without being preached at. I tell you what it is, grandfather—"
But Alfred was prevented from telling his grandfather what it was by the entrance of Lily, who came in, dressed in her best, and looking as pretty and modest as any girl in England; and in a few moments brother and sister were in the streets, arm in arm.
The old man watched them from the window until they were out of sight. "I am glad my darling has gone to enjoy herself," he thought, but he could not keep back an uneasy feeling because she was away from him. He accounted for it by saying that old age was selfish; but that reflection brought no consolation to him. He went to the street door and stood there, and felt more than ordinarily pleased as he saw Felix turn the corner of the street.
"I have come on purpose to tell you something," said Felix, as they shook hands; "you know that I am looking out for something to do."
"Yes, Felix."
"The matter is difficult enough. I can't go to work as a shoemaker, or a carpenter, or a bricklayer, because I am Jack-of-no-trade, and don't know anything. I am neither this nor that, nor anything else. But last night there was a great fire not very far from here—"